Showing posts with label BendyBus. Show all posts

"Oh! You're in your buggy now"

I love the NHS. I'd better get that bit in quickly before someone accuses me of being selfish, spoilt and not being grateful for free healthcare. I am definitely the grateful bit, and very definitely not in favour of the current Coalition car crash style of 'reform' but oh dear god does the NHS need reform.

I had a hospital appointment this morning with a new consultant. Given the many years and many ways I've heard the popular diagnosis of 'its all in your head' prior to being diagnosed with a very definitely not in my head genetic collagen disorder, it is safe to say new doctors make me anxious. Hospitals, nurses and early mornings also make me anxious so I was grumpy and stressed before the appointment and very probably pre-disposed to tantrums. Spotting a doctor who had previously been so convinced I'd made up my diagnosis of EDS that he decided I'd faked the official diagnosis letter included with my notes stressed me out further, even though I knew I wasn't seeing him. Listening to an elderly, disabled man's welfare woes in the waiting room was also a joy. Especially the bit where he told me that people who get full benefits get all the services they need. I rather icily informed him that I receive full benefits but share the exact same challenges he faces in accessing social care support and inwardly wept at the outstanding political success of the 'saint v's scrounger' rhetoric.

You get the point. I am a right narky nark today. It is entirely possible that I would have sulked regardless of the outcome of this appointment, but in a generous mood the heartsink doctor* donated several reasons for me to snark at. Again, not to his face. I find passive aggressive icy politeness much more effective than shouting. That is only partly because I can't produce more than a croak.

After a brief history and examination Dr Heartsink informed me that he didn't think there was anything wrong with me that wasn't me. Um...ohhhhkay. I'm not entirely sure what that was supposed to mean but after encyclopeadic experience of the ways doctors can say 'it's all in your head' I'm going with some form of 'its all in your head'. A more generous interpretation would be that there's nothing wrong with you aside from the problems Ehlers Danlos Syndrome causes but I'm not feeling generous. I expect doctors with many years experience to be able to use words like 'genetic' or 'collagen' if that is what they mean.

At this point I was distinctly unimpressed with Dr Heartsink, who proceeded to add to my woes by re-ordering the barium swallow I thought I'd got out of when ENT ordered it by allowing respiratory to do a bronchoscopy. Yes, I know the two tests are completely unrelated and show totally different things but that is not the point. They are all tests I've had before, that haven't shown anything up and have no desire to have again. Mostly because having such tests won't make it onto anyone's bucket list, but partly because I've been through this process many times and my heart sinks at the NHS spending money on it all over again. I am also to have an ultra-sound because the one they did last year is out of date now. There are valid medical reasons for repeating these tests I'm sure...but I'm too busy throwing my toys out  and don't want to know them! 

Assuming the tests don't show up anything nasty then apparently my GP will be able to take it from there and I won't have to go back to see Dr Heartsink. This pleased me so much that I didn't feel like explaining to Dr Heartsink that my GP is a lovely chap, but 'taking it from there' is not his forte. Nor did I point out that referring a patient to a dietician is only going to be of benefit if said patient has the ability to follow that dietary advice. It tends to be awfully practical and involve skills I do not possess. Like the functional ability to prepare and cook food. These however are not issues for a consultant to address, or even something that they would consider. The dietician will scratch her head quite a bit, wonder if getting social services in might help, then dump the problem back on me...hopefully not having taken it upon herself to actually contact social services as their input can only make the situation worse and the only answer any of them will come up with is 'ready meals'. Its that kind of healthy eating that the new Personal Indepdence Payment was predicated upon. So people like me who've managed to avoid some of these issues by being able to use money from Disability Living Allowance to buy more nutritionally balanced ready prepared food won't be able to do that any more. Instead we'll bounce from GP, to consultant, to dietician, to Occupational Therapist probably via Social Services and back round again while everyone mumbles about it not being their area, oh and the cuts, and the patient doesn't get fed. I have learnt this lesson well and know the choice is usually between eating food that isn't necessarily nutritionally the ideal option for me or not eating because I can't prepare it for myself.

Fortunately for all concerned I kept this stream of stroppy consciousness to myself, thanked the doctor for his time and left. I was given forms for an ECG and blood tests, then the nurse added that I'd be called in for a chest x-ray. At that point the desire not to glow in the dark kicked in and I queried whether I had to have a chest x-ray only a month after the last chest x-ray. I'd got onto my mobility scooter by this point, so the nurse asked me to reverse back up the corridor so Dr Heartsink could decide about the x-ray. Looking up from his desk Dr Heartsink exclaimed "Oh! You're in your buggy now!" which to date is the most interesting way I've heard a doctor describe a mobility scooter. Although I am a bit of a short arse it's not as if I've got pram toys hanging from it which could lead to that kind of understandable confusion.

 Whilst I was waiting for ECG and bloods the receptionist came to find me to check whether I am attending both of the hospital appointments I'm scheduled for on thursday afternoon. After confirming that yes I am, yes they are both at different hospitals and yes I had tried to change the date we got to the point which was how to transport my notes between the two sites when the appointments are only 2 hours apart. I suggested that perhaps I could take the notes with me when being driven from the first to second appointment but that is not allowed as I am a patient. I might after all eat my notes for something to do in the car. Or read them. The possibilities of what I could do with a pile of notes entirely about myself, weighing almost as much as myself are frankly endless. So instead a nice man with a van will have to drive from one hospital to the other to collect the notes and we'll all hope they turn up at either or both consultants appointments...cos to be fair to the doctors, running a consultation without any notes is a bit tricky. Not to mention potentially wasteful of money or any such practical considerations.

After a jolly time of some more blood taking and 'just lift your top up now sweetheart'** I had to go and deal with the car park paying machine...which involved having to block the main corridor of a hospital because clearly no-one realised people using mobility aids take up more room. Still snarking to myself I managed to hoist the scooter and got ready to dislocate my shoulder enough to be able to reach the ticket machine from the car. A very sweet old lady was in front of me getting quite stressed about the ticket machine. Which she'd broken. She'd also called for help, but there was no sign of it other than a growing queue of cars. Most of the drivers sat patiently realising what had happened and one or two male drivers appeared to squint at the machine and mumble in that practical man manner. The old ladies stress levels were visibly rising with every additional car, but it was the male driver right at the back of the queue who got out to scream and shout which seemed to finish her off. The helpful men went off to be helpful and intervene between the old lady and shouting man who continued to rant while the old lady reversed her car up and drove over the pavement to get around the barrier. At which point the security guards arrived and blamed me for breaking the machine!

All in all its been an awsome day so far. And did I mention how much I love the NHS......





*Heartsink doctor is a wonderful description. I'd take credit for it but I blatantly stole it from Hossylass
**The nurse...not random builders!





Pride And Prejudice

All day Sunday it niggled away at me. The 3rd of July. In that irritating manner thoughts have when you know you're supposed to remember something but can't quite pin down what it is. I couldn't remember anyone's birthday I'd forgotten and as it was a sunday I definitely hadn't forgotten a hospital appointment..but still it was there...sitting directly underneath the Mr Tumbles earworm I ingested on saturday. Shouting "Hello, hello, how are you...Hello, hello, you forgot me"

Saturday was an incredible day. I was invited to speak at the 100 Voices conference held by The Brandon Trust, a south-west charity which supports people with learning disabilities. It was held in Bristol, so after all the trauma of inaccessible hotels, wheelchair launching and being shut in a cupboard it's fair to say I was a tad nervous about travelling alone. As it was Bristol I was able to take the BendyVan on it's first road trip and have the BendyBus with me to get about, so at least I was fairly confident I wouldn't get shut in any cupboards I couldn't at least ram my way out of.

The Premier Inn I stayed in wasn't exactly accessible..but frankly my standards are low and I was just happy not to have to go on a pallet lift. The fact that there was no disabled parking available and that I couldn't get through any of the doors, just merged into the existing nightmares I'm having about burning to death locked in a cupboard. I consoled myself with the fact that I was at least on the ground floor and attempted to put the reported murders and window that I couldn't reach to shut properly out of my mind. The fact that the staff were so friendly and helpful did go some way to making up for the hassle, but really, in the 21st century is it too much to ask that a lone crip campaigner not need to flash her cleavage at friendly builders to get them to open hotel doors?

Fortunately after all that stress, the 100 Voices conference proved the perfect antidote. It was the happiest, most inspiring event I've ever been to and I came away feeling part of a huge family of disabled people. I was pretty nervous about my speech as it was the first time I've ever spoken infront of an audience like that, but it was great fun. Billy, Pat and Ann who helped me out were absolute stars...and within 30 seconds of being on stage I knew they were in complete control of where the presentation was going...I was just along for the ride. If anyone would like to see there are photos available here and there will be a dvd. Thank you to all the people who watched the conference through my blog!

After a much needed sleep I went to stay with friends in Birmingham and spent the sunday there before heading home wondering why I'd been talking so much about the process of becoming disabled and my feelings about it. I haven't driven so far in many years, especially unaccompanied and I was feeling proud of myself and all the people I'd met the day before; pride in being part of the most fantastic community in the world, proud of the way all sick and disabled people pull together to help each other and the lengths that we will all go to to ensure that people we don't actually know are safe and supported. Pride in having made it through the last 13 years alive, relatively sane and intact. Pride in my new life and new world.

So yesterday, when I finally remembered why the 3rd of July is important to me it seemed fitting to have spent the day remembering my old world and feeling proud of my new one. Our community is incredible, loving, supportive and safe and I literally could not be prouder to be a part of it.

The Bendy Bus - A Magical Small Child Magnet

The BendyBus is a magical small child magnet - especially to little boys. They get this look in their eyes, a look that in decades to come will be all grown up and mean something entirely different, but for now is an innocent excitement, beautiful to witness. The cut off point seems to be around 12, when they become all 'cool' and aware, but any younger than that and you can watch them gazing fascinatedly at my mobility scooter, little hands unconsciously outstretched in their desire to touch and understand how it all works. Even the policeman who's feet I nearly ran over yesterday was far too amused by the scooter to be upset. Or demand to know if I had insurance.

Something about the BendyBus breaks down barriers and lets children approach and ask questions. How does it work, how fast will it go, why have you got it, can I have a go please? I always answer their questions, curiosity sated with the answer 'my legs don't work as well as yours' they move on to the far more important stuff about the scooter. Sometimes parents literally drag their children away, their embarrassment and shame palpable as they mutter about it being rude to stare and refuse to meet my eye. That always makes me sad as their children are seeing and accepting difference and disability as completely normal parts of life, and even a way of getting amazing toys they'd really rather like to have. Those kids would grow up into non judgemental adults if given the chance.

I met Max yesterday in the supermarket. A proper little cutie of five or six he was edging towards the scooter in that way kids do when they are enchanted by what they see and can't seem to help themselves get closer. Max didn't have a great deal of speech, he had words but his little sister still in a pushchair was putting together her words into sentences in a way that Max is yet to master. He knew what he liked though, and he LOVED my scooter, little hands reaching out to touch it through the distance as he shuffled closer and closer. 

Max's mum apologised for him bothering me, but when I offered to let him have a go on the scooter her eyes lit up too. I explained he'd have to sit on the seat with me, it's close contact, particularly for a stranger. Max was halfway on the scooter before his mum had said yes, so incredibly focused on the excitement he couldn't look at me. Actually, Max couldn't really look anyone in the eye but his little face shone with joy as he climbed on to the scooter. So did his mum's.

Off we went, Max as good as gold, hands under mine on the handle bars, completely transfixed by the scooter, the speed and the wonder of it all. We went round a few aisles then straight back to mum, who looked even happier than her boy. Max didn't say much, he got off the scooter obediently when told to by his mum but remained utterly transfixed and so, so happy looking.

Later I went to see BendyBabyNiece. She's another scooter fan, getting stopped by the police just seems to have added to the thrill. The hoist is a big draw for BBN. She's allowed to help push the buttons and watch the hoist take the scooter in and out of the car. She also knows exactly where the horn is and how to sneak her little hands under mine and fiddle with the speed dial. It's a big deal. Her only disappointment is that I won't get off the scooter and leave it to her to operate as she believes herself competent to do. Well, she is 2 now. That's all growned up.

These are children who are seeing disability as normal. As a different way of getting around, way more exciting than legs could ever be, of fun and interest and very, very easy to accept. Legs that don't work so well are more than compensated for by having a full sized toy 'car' and attitudes laid down in early childhood are carried through to adulthood.

Oh, and mobility scooters are fun. How could they not be. So disability is fun too. I hope they remember that bit most of all when they grow up.

Criminally Crippled Capers

Last year when I first got the BendyBus I decided that it was my ultimate aspiration to be arrested for drink driving it. Until Roland shattered my dreams by informing me that I could lose my driving license for drink driving a mobility scooter. Even on the pavement. The judicial system has a serious sense of humour failure when it comes to 'invalidity carriages', the DVLA recently spoilt tank wheelchair man's fun by telling him he needed a special license to drive it on public roads or land. So, no drink driving the BendyBus, which to be fair as I don't drink and rarely go out might've been hard to acheive in the first place. But never let it be said I allowed something so trivial as reality get in the way of  my dreams.

On Saturday I went to see ConventGirl sing at a local fundraising gig. I was not allowed to rant about the deep inappropriateness of raising money to experimentally 'cure' a disabled child whilst at the actual gig, being there soley to support my friend, but happily no such restrictions have been put on my ranting outside of said gig. I can just about manage to contain myself to a "what the fuck?!" but only because we'd otherwise be here all day while I repeatedly fell off my soapbox.

I spent so long scattering the entire contents of my wardrobe across my room in a frantic search for an outfit that would be nice enough to wear out but also warm enough to sit on a mobility scooter in the freezing darkness in, that I was too late to meet the other friend coming along to the gig and had to make him sit and wait while I continued getting ready in my specially disorganised way. Sorry. I blame the drunken neighbours who arrived just before him for delaying me and not at all the clothing mountain.

We made it to the gig with time to fulfil my official role as destresser of ConventGirl and were joined by another of my neighbours. Overall the event was woefully poorly attended, perhaps because I wasn't the only one muttering 'what the fuck' while steam came out of my ears about the inappropriateness of the 'cause' but we had great company and a nice time. ConventGirl was of course brilliant and I am not at all biased. The others all had to leave before me and I wasn't happy about driving BendyBus solo down the bar lined main road in the post pub period so waited for ConventGirl to walk me home.

Except by the time it came to 'walk' home we might've been a teensy bit inebriated. So inebriated that giving ConventGirl a backy on BendyBus seemed like the best idea we'd ever had. Off we set along the pavement of the main road, starting and stopping as we variously lost gloves, had to put BendyBus back together and searched for a lighter we couldn't find anywhere.The few cars and cabs which went past seemed most amused to see two women weaving along the pavement on a mobility scooter which only encouraged our conviction that this was absolutely the best way to travel.
Moments before Police. Stop. Action!

It was then that a ginormous yellow 'police, we're filming you' CCTV van pulled up alongside us with window wound down, and a rather cute looking copper leant out to enquire of us "Ladies. Is that actually made for two?" I managed to shake my head, and agree that it wasn't before dissolving into uncontrollably hysterical naughty schoolgirl type giggles. ConventGirl leapt off BendyBus and attempted to convince the policemen she was sober 'honest officer' and just seeing me home safely. I was beyond any kind of convincing and purely concentrating on not falling off BendyBus with laughter. Fortunately the policemen looked equally amused and drove off leaving us where we were, we were both laughing so much it took us a few minutes to get it together enough to go anywhere by that point.

After reflecting upon events we decided that the fates had probably stolen the lighter to protect us from ourselves.

Someday, somehow, someway...

Goodness life is busy at the moment. It's all great and very exciting and I feel moaning about it makes me sound like a right twat. But, this is my blog and I'll moan if I want to. And also to be fair, I am a right twat. So consider yourself officially warned; moaning ahead.

Alongside the excitement of meetings with the leader of Wirral Council, articles in or featured by The Guardian, the huge success of One Month Before Heartbreak and the BendyVan I can't shake a dual sense of fear and frustration. Fear because what I'm doing is very visible and could lead to accusations of benefit scrounging from those subscribing to the Nadine Dorries school of social welfare, and frustration because work that pays is oh so very close, so close I can smell it, but can't reach it to taste it.

Yesterday I went to get the final adjustments made to BendyVan so I can use BendyBus independently. It's a massive improvement on the mobility situation I previously had so again I feel like an ungrateful scrounging twat to moan. While I was at the mobility place I got to try out the type of wheelchair I've been dreaming about for months - a power assisted chair. Just before christmas I finally caved to the NHS wheelchair services and agreed to be assessed for a fulltime power chair. Actually I only agreed because Roland promised he'd get me a shed and put the wheelchair in it so I didn't have to fall over it in my flat, but that's beside the point. My flat is beautifully compact and well arranged so it's only ever a few steps to anywhere meaning I'd find it much harder to use a powerchair in here as the dislocations from transferring all the time will do more harm than the staggering dislocations. But, as I've been whinging about for years, the NHS regulations for the provision of powerchairs state that only someone who needs to use a chair full time indoors will be considered for one which goes outdoors, and only after using a chair fulltime indoors for a minimum of six months. What you're supposed to do about going to work or in any way having a life during that six months I've no idea and don't even start me on the waiting times. Given that powerchairs are only technically issued to people completely immobile in their own homes it seems a bit bizarre to have waiting lists of more than a week or so. I don't strictly fit into that criteria but if I did it would mean remaining in hospital or requiring a vastly more expensive care package from the local authority while I waited for the powerchair which costs less than both those things. I did say don't start me! 

So we all get the picture. I don't want an indoor powerchair, don't need an indoor powerchair and don't see why I should have to further limit my mobility just to comply with an NHS rule. However, I do need an outdoor powerchair of some description. Deathwalks are all well and good but it's not a practical form of getting around and my ability to dislocate any joint without even drawing breath means a traditional manual chair is out of the question. Without a suitable wheelchair that possibility of paid work remains an impossible dream, one of the biggest problems I had when I was working was that just going back and forth to the toilet at work was too much walking. Anyway, back to the point which was that I finally got to try out a power assisted chair and oh my, it was lovely. I'd sleep with it if I could. Or the bloke who was demonstrating it for me, but if push came to shove the chair would win. Sorry sexy wheelchair man. 

The big flaw in my dream of making love to power assisted wheels on a regular basis is the cost. Even going with the less expensive version, to get the wheels and a 'not amazing but decent' wheelchair frame is going to cost in the region of £4000. My mobility allowance is already committed to motability so I can't use that and the NHS won't pay for this type of chair. If I was in work I could apply to Access to Work for funding (before it's all cut) but I'm not in work and realistically even if I found a job I could do, with an employer willing to take a chance on someone with a horrendous sickness record, no prospect of improving that and likelihood to be floating round Jupiter somewhere on a morphine cloud most days, to then have to say please wait for me to start the job until Access to Work have assessed me, gone away, made a decision then ordered the wheelchair and it's turned up isn't likely to encourage a job offer. Access to Work were so slow supplying the equipment when I last worked that I'd had to leave through being too sick to work before half of it turned up. 

Assuming I could find some way such as charitable fundin around the wheelchair dilemma there are other practical barriers to work. For example today, even though I've got a blinging new BendyVan, BendyBus and BendyHoist I can't use any of it as I don't have enough spoons to control such equipment safely. I don't qualify for local authority care as my needs are classed as 'moderate' a category the majority of local authorities no longer provide support to. I need help with all the basics, washing, dressing, getting around, making food, reducing dislocations and not choking to death being high up the list but those needs are not sufficient for a care package. That's fair enough, times are hard, a line has to be drawn somewhere and although I need help with all those activities to stop me dislocating, falling, increasing pain and overall disability unlike many people I can actually do those activities in my own special 'life on the edge' way. 

But I can't do all those things and work. It's one or the other. Times are hard, further cuts have to be made and we all have to tighten our belts. But whatever incentives are put into place, whatever benefits are cut back, no matter how difficult it is to claim, unless these other obstacles change, those sick and disabled people like me who could do some work, who want to do some work will continue being prevented from doing so because these kinds of barriers are insurmountable.


Supermarket Sweep

 It's cold here but glorious out, the beach still frozen, snow capped Welsh mountains sheltering the flocks of feeding birds, so back from a beautiful deathwalk I decided the pavements had cleared enough to risk taking BendyBus to the shops for some supplies.

Of course once I got to the supermarket I remembered it was Sunday and that it doesn't open til midday, further delayed by a late delivery and cross shoppers having a go at the supermarket manager. There's not much open on a small town Sunday so I went for a cup of tea and read of the Daily Mail while I waited. I wondered if it will be possible to apply for Local Housing Allowance for three different properties and still claim it's perfectly within the rules now that "we're all in it together" 

Once the supermarket opened BendyBus and I headed in. Spotting something I wanted on a top shelf I made the executive decision that it was light so I could attempt to climb up the shelves and reach it down for myself, an action the gorgeous joiner has absolutely ruled out for my shelves at home. Obviously he doesn't know me as well as Roland who realises I'm likely to attempt Tarzan manouevres whatever he says and so builds anything to withstand his rather more substantial weight than mine. So, off BendyBus, onto my feet and up to the shelves dislocating a shoulder for that extra needed inch of reach. At which point I tipped the entire contents of the container I was reaching for a bit too far forwards and had no choice but to accept the inevitable shower of smoked salmon tumbling onto my head with good grace and lots of laughter. I think it made the woman next to me's day as she couldn't contain her giggles any more than I could. 

I carried on around the store managing to avoid ram raiding any elderly people or toddlers until I had to get round a tight corner to join the queue. There just wasn't quite enough room as the aisle was blocked by a promotional stack of beer crates...which I hit twice just to make sure I couldn't get through. A rather dashingly dressed Santa in the queue was stood next to a very hunky builder and they both offered their help. And places in the queue. Bless. 

My chivalrous builder stepped forward and tried to shove the stack of beer crates out of the way. They didn't budge, not even an inch...it was far too heavy. I got the giggles, particularly as the builder was bent over in front of me and quite nice looking, the builder went bright red and gave a superhuman shove managing to shift the beer crates just far enough so that I could get the scooter through. He then stepped back into the queue after offering me his place again and embarrassedly said he should've left the crates alone. 

Chivalry; alive, well, and able to make builders blush. That's my kinda Sunday!

It's all in the name!

I lay in bed last night feeling quite sorry for myself, in fact, sorry enough for a tear to slide down my cheek. But then, as tends to happen when tears arrive, my nose started to block up and I realised I was far too sorry for myself to deal with that. So that was the end of that. I decided I'd better be cheerful instead and look on the bright side of life. 

I have a BendyBus! What's not to like? Well...BendyBus has returned from the garage where it had been for almost a week...and broke down more times than I could count on the way home. I'm not sure if the garage were too busy to look at it properly or whether they just didn't know what's ailing BendyBus but they liberally applied WD40 and didn't charge me anything. Which was very nice of them as they did drive me home and the robbing bastards company contracted to provide NHS wheelchair services wanted a £40 call out fee for private work. On top of service charge, any parts oh and some labour too. Which they didn't provide an actual price for. Which also reminds me they still haven't come back to fix my NHS wheelchair. Private companies doing NHS work with taxpayers money. Aren't we all glad they do such a reliable job already they won't need to clean up their acts to bid for more of that lovely taxpayer money coming their way? I'd stamp my foot if I hadn't already learnt my lesson about that leading directly to dislocations. It's a definite flaw in the system that politicians don't receive similar direct consequences to force them to learn from their mistakes, and just think how much more entertaining PMQ's would be!

Garages and mobility companies be damned, I know what's wrong with the BendyBus. It was very obvious when I thought about it sensibly. BendyBus requires constant charging, energy, warmth and attention. It looks pretty, uncannily like a fully functioning mobility scooter that has nothing wrong with it. BendyBus tries it's absolute best to do as it's told...only to immediately run out of power any time it's asked to do something hard...like, say, moving. Then it collapses in a big bendy heap on the pavement wailing "you can't make me". It's even in the name. That's right, the BendyBus must have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. There is no other possible cause. Batteries, chargers and loose connections be damned. 

Only I could end up with a mobility scooter with EDS; it's not like you can go to the shops and try to buy a scooter with it, they hide amongst all the fully functioning scooters, looking all shiny to convince the world their excellent health is the very reason to take them home. Then as soon as you're out the door it's collapse on the pavement in a big heap time. This is taking the bendy seeker gene to a whole new level. 

What with the BendyBus, the bendy seeker gene and the rest of my latest internet purchases it's probably for the best that I can't get out much at the moment. I appear to have taken inebriated online shopping to a whole new level. After the purchase of 6 bottles of mineral water heavier than myself caused by stoned reading of post apocalyptic swine flu literature I had thought I couldn't sink any lower* but this time I've outdone myself. I've bought a Onesie online. So now it's official. The BendyBus really is bendy and I am absolutely, definitely NEVER getting laid again. 


*In case anyone's interested they were very cheap and ConventGirl is still drinking the last of them as I had to give them to someone who could move the bottles out of my kitchen.

So long and thanks for all the fish!




The BendyBus is coming! Well...it was coming, now it's being recharged in it's BendyBusBed after a sulk of such mammoth proportions it stopped working altogether. In the rain. Bad BendyBus. Fortunately a nice man called Richard stopped to see if I needed help and pushed me and BendyBus all the way home. In the rain. It's the Big Society in action, I'm tellin' ya. Dave 'the rave' Cameron would be well proud. Even if the BendyBus would need to apply for Incapacity Benefit. Innit.


It was all going so well yesterday. BendyBus had been charged overnight in it's own cosy little bedroom, the sun was shining and the sky briefly blue. Off I went on BendyBus with thoughts of a blue faced Mel Gibson yelling "Freedom" running through my mind. It totally was too. Freedom I mean. At I crashed up and down kerbs on BendyBus I realised it's been years since I've been able to go anywhere alone that didn't have parking within a few meters of the entrance. Living in small town land makes that kind of thing easier than in a city, but it's still seriously limiting. The fish in my GP's practice are nice an' all that, but being able to go and see them on my own does not make up for, well, everything else. They are just fish and probably no more impressed with the BendyBus than BendyCat is. Although, she totally will be once I introduce the concept of BendyCat Basket Busing to her. 

At this point I'm not sure whether BendyBus is just a drama queen when it comes to weather conditions or if it's something more serious, I plan to consult the local mechanics once the weather improves. And get breakdown insurance. Richard was so kind to push me home, but did look rather red in the face once we were back-I can't bear the thought of someone having a heart attack while pushing me and BendyBus-it'd mean I'd feel responsible for filling out their ESA forms! 
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